


Angel Face

by j_gabrielle



Series: Potter's Hand [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Death of minor character, Murder, Other, Torture, Violence, dark!Will, mentions of cannibalistic practices
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-17
Updated: 2013-04-17
Packaged: 2017-12-08 18:41:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/764736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_gabrielle/pseuds/j_gabrielle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will's first kill</p><p> </p><p>A sequel of sorts for <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/chapters/1426705">Of Monsters And Beasts</a> but can be read as a stand alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Angel Face

**Author's Note:**

> I know I said no to the possibility of a sequel to OMAB, but I promised the Art!fill Anon. And I make good on my promises. 
> 
> I hope this is enjoyed, nonetheless.

Hannibal gently guides his hand downwards, resting it on the curve of Will’s naked hip. “Like this.” He whispers into his lover and protégé’s ear. Covering the hand holding the knife, he slides it into the soft muscles of his lower abdomen, carving a grotesque smile into the flesh.

Their dinner screams behind his gag.

Will laughs, a clear and happy sound, as blood begins to pour out of the wound. Hannibal smiles against the shell of his ear. He detects the faint scent of his cologne in his boy’s brown curls, and wonders if his favourite perfumer could do a rush delivery. Dinner gasps desperately, as if every new intake of oxygen will prolong his continued existence.

The boy lying on the metal slab is one of Will’s old tormentors from the private academy he attends. Apparently, he was a football player of sorts and his family one of lineages that could date their arrival on the Mayflower. Hannibal has known of this child’s existence for quite some time, has known of the way Will has suffered in his hands and has had plans for his inevitable end for just as long.

If he were an honest man, and he is but only to those who and when it matters, Hannibal would admit that he had had envisioned a more… Significant kill for Will’s initiation. But as he nuzzles against the soft pale skin of his boy’s neck, he doesn’t think this was all that bad after all.

Will drags the tip of the knife, letting the blade bite thin trails of red on dinner’s skin. “Now, now Will. It’s bad manners to play with your food.” Hannibal chides, amused when his boy huffs, bumping against the hand on his side. Dinner had come to them when he’d practically shamed Will in the pasta aisle of the local supermarket. His boy was fuming with disguised rage, hiding his eyes in a way Hannibal had not seen him do since he’d turn 18. That alone was the motivator for forcing his hand in the matter.

They had hunted dinner in the parking lot. Distantly, Hannibal makes a note to dispose of this one’s remains carefully. No use in putting a mark on Will just as they were about to leave the country for a summer in Vienna.

Up till now, all Will knew about the things Hannibal does were through stories told and eyes seen from the sidelines; theoretical teachings and this was the practical examination. There were no points, nor any trophies to be had, but his Will is doing ever so well. Hands barely shaking as he etches his judgement on the rude, no signs of distress or remorse. The only emotion on his face is anticipation, the _lust_.

He could not take credit for the beauty that has always existed inside of Will, but Hannibal reckons that he has earned the right to brag about his manipulations on setting his boy down the right path to enlightenment. This is his magnum opus with an angel’s face.

“What will you cook me?” Will asks, leaning back against him as he surveys their dinner. Chops? Roast? The possibilities were endless. But he thinks he’ll attempt some pan-grilled breasts served with honey and lemon sauce, with a side of chilli mango salad. Perhaps some Will’s favourite as well; deep fried Southern style skin. This is, after all, Will’s kill.

Dipping his hand into the pool of blood that has begun to drip to the ground, Hannibal traces a line of still-warm life force from Will’s chest to his navel. Downwards, he runs his thumb over the beginnings of his pubic hair, trailing it over one side and to the dip of his spine. Pushing himself away, he dunks his hands into dinner’s blood and uses them to map the contours of Will’s back; drawing boundaries and nonsensical words. Through it all, Will remains as still as a statue. Smirking, he palms his boy’s jaw and roughly yanks him close, pressing their lips together in a sudden battle for dominance.

Will surrenders without delay, and it should annoy him how this ferocious beast submits so fast, so willingly to him. All it does, however, was ignite and renew the passion and adoration he feels for the being safely ensconced in his arms.

This was his addiction.

 

 

[fin.]


End file.
